


Support

by badwolf_doctor



Series: Verse: Can't no preacherman save my soul [1]
Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Apparently all I can write is soft Rook/Pratt and I'm ok with that, Gen, M/M, Pratt apparently has a thing for Rook's scars, Rook and Pratt have all their serious discussions while cuddling, Rook helps others heal by letting himself heal, a little more Rook backstory, cautious flirting, even if being emotionally vulnerable terrifies him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 00:16:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15158288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolf_doctor/pseuds/badwolf_doctor
Summary: Pratt knew he had his own problems to work through, but after everything Rook had done for him, he wanted to repay him somehow.Rook and Pratt talk about trauma, and grow closer.





	Support

Rook had gotten out of the shower and was just starting to get dressed when the door slowly swung open. In the doorway stood Staci Pratt, shifting from foot to foot awkwardly before taking a few tentative steps into the makeshift bedroom. He and Pratt had gone to Fall’s End in an attempt to put some physical distance between themselves and Jacob’s bunker; whether or not either of them would ever be able to put any _emotional_ distance between themselves and what happened there was still up for debate.

“Hey.” Rook greeted. He was always happy to see Pratt, and right now he was even happier to not be on the move. Lately, he’d been running himself ragged trying to split his time between fighting Peggies and being there for his fellow deputies (especially Pratt). Rook had been trying to be a steady and reassuring presence for both of them, supporting them while also giving them some space; being open and honest about his own issues to show them it was okay to ask for help. Sometimes, it was difficult when his first instinct was to bury everything so deep he could pretend it didn’t exist. But, he couldn’t ask Hudson and Pratt to open up if he wasn’t willing to do the same. And their wellbeing was more important to him than his comfort; if he had to suffer a bit so that Joey and Staci could come out the other side of all this happy and healthy, then he would gladly do it.

 

“Sorry,” Pratt said, backing out of the room a bit. “They said you were back here, but you look busy---I…uh, I can come back.”

 

“I’m never too busy for you.” Rook interjected. He wasn’t facing Pratt directly, so he couldn’t see his expression, but was that embarrassment that Rook heard in his voice? Why would Pratt sound embarrassed? Oh…right. Rook was standing around in nothing more than his boxers. He felt his face heat up.  “Sorry, just let me put on some pants.” Rook reached for his discarded pants, rushing to put them on and wobbling unsteadily before righting himself.

“So,” he cleared his throat. “Come in. What’s up?”

 

Pratt stood silently in the doorway for a moment before entering the room and shutting the door behind him.

 

“Uh-oh, shutting the door is a clear sign of a serious conversation topic, should I be worried?” Rook joked, deflating a bit when Pratt didn’t so much as smile.

 

“I wanted to check in with you, make sure you were ok.” Pratt said. Rook’s heart melted at the words. It was no secret to anyone (except maybe Pratt) that Rook was sweet on him, always had been. And it had been a while since anyone had worried about him; the fact that after what Pratt had been through he was worried about Rook of all people, honestly gave him some serious warm, fuzzy feelings.

 

“Me? I’m fine.” Rook replied. “Tired but otherwise fine.”

 

 

Pratt moved closer to him; not so close that he was in Rook’s space because he wasn’t sure how Rook would react, but closer to him than to the door. He couldn’t help but let his gaze travel over Rook’s back and shoulders. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen the man shirtless, but every time he did he couldn’t help but marvel at how much damage the human body could take.

He knew that Rook was self-conscious about his scars, and so Pratt wasn’t surprised that when Rook noticed his stare, he flushed and started looking almost frantically for a shirt.

“You say you’re fine.” Pratt said. “But I heard you last night—your nightmares are back, aren’t they?” He and Rook were bunking together, both of them sleeping easier when they weren’t alone. Last night though, Rook had been restless; tossing and turning, talking in his sleep. He knew that Rook was no stranger to nightmares; he’d woken Rook up from a few of them when he’d fallen asleep on the couch in the breakroom of the Sheriff’s department. He took another step closer as Rook focused on locating his shirt, probably as a way to avoid answering the question. Normally, Pratt would let Rook deal with his own shit, but after everything, he felt compelled to help. He knew he had his own problems to work through, but considering everything Rook had done for him; he wanted to repay him somehow. He watched his fellow deputy fidget on the spot, shoulders sagging as he sighed.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Pratt asked.

 

Rook glanced back at him briefly. “It was an old nightmare.” He answered quietly. “Endless desert and death; it’s just been on my mind a lot lately.”

 

Pratt knew that Rook had been a soldier; he’d never tried to hide that fact, even if he was notoriously reticent to speak about his past. But he’d opened up once or twice to Pratt about his army days before all this mess with the Seeds started. So, Pratt figured he could get him to talk about it now. You didn’t end up with scars like Rook had without going through something terrible; Rook obviously did his best to forget it, but Pratt had an idea what had opened these particular wounds up.

“It’s because of what Jacob said, isn’t it?” he asked. The eldest Seed had told Rook that he recognized the look in his eyes as that of someone skilled at killing, someone who prized survival above all else; that the two of them were essentially the same deep down. Then, he’d transitioned into that fucked up story about eating his army buddy to survive. The comparison was complete bullshit though. Rook was **nothing** like Jacob. Jacob cared about nothing but being strong, survival at any cost. Rook was a better man than that. Any man who’d try so hard to help everyone in the entire county could be _nothing_ like Jacob.

 

Rook looked back at him again from over his shoulder. “Probably. It’s hard to get that kinda stuff outta my head; it just kind of kick around up there until something equally awful replaces it.”

 

Pratt frowned. “Jacob was **wrong** about you, Rook. You’re nothing like him.” His tone was adamant and as he watched Rook smile at him, he couldn’t keep from smiling in turn. Even before all this, Rook had been important to him and he couldn’t stop the rush of affection he felt whenever he saw him if he wanted to. A lot had happened recently and while neither of them were the same person they were before, his feelings for Rook hadn’t changed. If anything, they were stronger given everything they’d gone through. Of course, he wasn’t exactly sure now was the time to express those feelings. And he didn’t know precisely how to go about expressing them either.

 

Rook sighed again, running a hand through damp hair curling around his ears. “He wasn’t _entirely_ wrong; he and I have a lot in common. Both from broken homes, both grew up to be soldiers, and both wound up going through hell in a desert half a world away.” Rook paused. “The difference is Jacob lost himself there; let the heat and sand get in him and corrode everything until it was unrecognizable. But me? I **found** myself out there. Learned what I can live with and what I can’t.”

 

Rook’s back was still turned towards him, constellations of scars visible in florescent light. Pratt couldn’t stop himself from running a hand over the largest and deepest ones. He felt Rook tense for a split-second and then he relaxed into the touch. Since the day they’d met, Rook had been careful to not let people touch him; the fact that Rook was letting Pratt touch him now said a lot about how close they had gotten.

 

 

“And what can’t you live with?” Pratt asked, voice close enough to send a shiver down Rook’s spine. Rook didn’t think Pratt knew the kind of hold he had over him, didn’t know the lengths Rook would go to keep him safe. He turned slowly, brown eyes meeting hazel.

 

“I can’t live with the thought of standing by and letting something bad happen to the people I care about.” Rook replied, bracing himself for the truth he was about to deliver. “I could live with whatever Jacob could throw at me, but I couldn’t live with the thought of you being there, in that hellhole. I would have gone through anything to get you out of there.”

 

“You protect the people you care about.” Pratt repeated the words Rook had told him what felt like an eternity ago.

 

Rook smiled. “Yeah, I do. And I care about you a lot— _more_ than just care about you.” And there was the truth of the matter. He was desperately, ridiculously, hopelessly in love with Staci Pratt. He couldn’t make himself say the words aloud though. It wasn’t the time for those words, wasn’t safe. Not when Eden’s Gate and the remaining Seed siblings were seeking revenge upon him; he couldn’t stand the thought of someone else using Pratt to get to him. So, for now, this would have to do. He had to hope that it would be enough for now; a promise of something more when the world made sense again.

 

“I still can’t believe you came back for me.” Pratt said quietly, his hand warm on Rook’s shoulder. “Twice you came back for me.”

 

Rook turned, placing a hand atop Pratt’s. “We’re partners; that means that I’ve always got your back—no matter what and with no questions asked.”

 

“No matter what it might cost you?” Pratt asked.

 

“Whatever the price, I’ll gladly pay it.” Rook confirmed.

 

Pratt smiled at him. “Thanks, Rook.”

 

Rook rubbed the back of his neck and took a sudden interest in the floor. “You don’t have to thank me Pratt.” He said sheepishly. “But…uh..could you hand me that shirt?” His missing shirt was draped over a chair behind Pratt. Rook was unused to attention, especially when that attention came from someone that he cared for. Pratt handed him the shirt, their hands brushing during the hand-off; Rook tried to ignore the thrill that went through him at the touch, instead focusing on putting his shirt on.

“Thanks Staci—both for handing me my shirt and for checking in on me.” It had been a long time since anyone had tried or wanted to take care of him—it was nice. To his surprise, Pratt grinned.

 

“ _’Staci’_? You going soft on me, probie?”

 

Rook laughed. It was such a normal conversation, like ones they’d had a thousand times before; he could almost pretend the past few months hadn’t happened, if only for a moment.

“Always been soft where you’re concerned, jerk.” He answered, a warm feeling coursing through him at the wide smile he got in return. “You look exhausted, you should get some sleep.”

 

Pratt looked between him and the bed they’d been sharing and then back before nodding; moving to sit on the edge of the bed, he kicked off his boots. “Stay?” he asked.

 

“Sure.” Rook replied, dropping down onto the bed eagerly.

 

“Sorry I’m such a pain.” Pratt said, settling beside him.

 

“Hey,” Rook nudged him gently with an elbow. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

 

“It’s just…”Pratt sighed. “I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than stay here with me.”

 

Rook frowned. “If you need me, I’m here.” He promised. “Everything else will keep for a few hours.” Honestly, Rook would rather be here than anywhere else.

 

 

“I should just get over it—stop being weak. What I went though was nowhere near as bad as what happened to you.” Pratt said. Rook was out there, fighting back and helping people, not hiding away and jumping at every small noise. That was the difference between them—Rook was **strong** and he wasn’t. Pratt was surprised when Rook propped himself up on an elbow so that they were face to face.

 

“You’re not _weak_ , Pratt.” He said. “Jacob thought you were weak and that he was strong, but he’s _dead_ and you’re not. So that should tell you something about the validity of his worldview.”

 

Pratt had to admit that Rook had a point, they were both here and Jacob was dead.

 

“You can’t weigh your experiences against someone else’s; everyone handles trauma differently. Some people break under it, some people ignore it but trauma is trauma and we’ve all suffered. What happened to you was awful, you have every right to feel the way you do. I know right now, it feels like it’s this all consuming thing, but someday you’ll get to a point where it isn’t all you think about. But it’s gonna take as long as it takes—there are no shortcuts. And you can only heal if you let yourself; you have to cut yourself some slack, ok?”

 

“It sucks.” He said. Pratt wanted to be out there, helping Rook.

 

“It’s gonna, but you gotta keep working at it even when you don’t want to.” Rook replied. “I wish I could make it better.”

 

“You do, by just being here.” Pratt assured him. The fact that Rook was willing to listen to him and not judge him for anything he felt helped more than Rook would probably ever know.

 

Rook smiled at him again, settling back down on the mattress. “Well, I’m not going anywhere, ok? So get some sleep.”

 

Pratt let his eyes drift closed and was asleep in a matter of moments; relishing the feeling of warmth and safety of knowing Rook was next to him.


End file.
